And why did he proceed so swiftly to the mysterious Miss X— whoever she was?
Oh, surely, surely, surely, she was not going to be compelled, in spite of all her faith, to believe that her eldest — the most ambitious and hopeful, if restless, of all of her children, was guilty of such a crime!
No!
She could not doubt him — even now.
Under the merciful direction of a living God, was it not evil in a mother to believe evil of a child, however dread his erring ways might seem?
In the silence of the different rooms of the mission, before she had been compelled to remove from there because of curious and troublesome visitors, had she not stood many times in the center of one of those miserable rooms while sweeping and dusting, free from the eye of any observer — her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her strong, brown face molded in homely and yet convinced and earnest lines — a figure out of the early Biblical days of her six-thousand-year-old world — and earnestly directing her thoughts to that imaginary throne which she saw as occupied by the living, giant mind and body of the living God — her Creator.
And praying by the quarter and the half hour that she be given strength and understanding and guidance to know of her son’s innocence or guilt — and if innocent that this searing burden of suffering be lifted from him and her and all those dear to him and her — or if guilty, she be shown how to do — how to endure the while he be shown how to wash from his immortal soul forever the horror of the thing he had done — make himself once more, if possible, white before the Lord.
“Thou art mighty, O God, and there is none beside Thee. Behold, to Thee all things are possible. In Thy favor is Life. Have mercy, O God.
Though his sins be as scarlet, make him white as snow.
Though they be red like crimson, make them as wool.” Yet in her then — and as she prayed — was the wisdom of Eve in regard to the daughters of Eve.
That girl whom Clyde was alleged to have slain — what about her?
Had she not sinned too?
And was she not older than Clyde?
The papers said so.
Examining the letters, line by line, she was moved by their pathos and was intensely and pathetically grieved for the misery that had befallen the Aldens.
Nevertheless, as a mother and woman full of the wisdom of ancient Eve, she saw how Roberta herself must have consented — how the lure of her must have aided in the weakening and the betrayal of her son.
A strong, good girl would not have consented — could not have.
How many confessions about this same thing had she not heard in the mission and at street meetings?
And might it not be said in Clyde’s favor — as in the very beginning of life in the Garden of Eden —“the woman tempted me”?
Truly — and because of that —
“His mercy endureth forever,” she quoted.
And if His mercy endureth — must that of Clyde’s mother be less?
“If ye have faith, so much as the grain of a mustard seed,” she quoted to herself — and now, in the face of these importuning reporters added:
“Did my son kill her?
That is the question.
Nothing else matters in the eyes of our Maker,” and she looked at the sophisticated, callous youths with the look of one who was sure that her God would make them understand.
And even so they were impressed by her profound sincerity and faith.
“Whether or not the jury has found him guilty or innocent is neither here nor there in the eyes of Him who holds the stars in the hollow of His hand.
The jury’s finding is of men. It is of the earth’s earthy.
I have read his lawyer’s plea.
My son himself has told me in his letters that he is not guilty.
I believe my son.
I am convinced that he is innocent.”
And Asa in another corner of the room, saying little.
Because of his lack of comprehension of the actualities as well as his lack of experience of the stern and motivating forces of passion, he was unable to grasp even a tithe of the meaning of this.
He had never understood Clyde or his lacks or his feverish imaginings, so he said, and preferred not to discuss him.
“But,” continued Mrs. Griffiths, “at no time have I shielded Clyde in his sin against Roberta Alden.
He did wrong, but she did wrong too in not resisting him.
There can be no compromising with sin in any one.
And though my heart goes out in sympathy and love to the bleeding heart of her dear mother and father who have suffered so, still we must not fail to see that this sin was mutual and that the world should know and judge accordingly.
Not that I want to shield him,” she repeated.
“He should have remembered the teachings of his youth.”
And here her lips compressed in a sad and somewhat critical misery.
“But I have read her letters too.
And I feel that but for them, the prosecuting attorney would have no real case against my son.
He used them to work on the emotions of the jury.”
She got up, tried as by fire, and exclaimed, tensely and beautifully: “But he is my son!
He has just been convicted.
I must think as a mother how to help him, however I feel as to his sin.”
She gripped her hands together, and even the reporters were touched by her misery.